Artificial god
by Vernon Danforth
Summary: You aren't what you pretend to be.


-1Picking up speed, I haven't ran this fast in a long time I'm almost having fun. Almost.

A 'bot swoops from my left, to try and cut me off. My path will not be obstructed.

My feet project themselves from the ground, as my legs tuck into my chest. Buzz sawing through the almost useless metal, my feet meet the ground once more, and again I'm running. Didn't even slow me down, the fucker.

This factory is dim, but it's practically a straight shot to the man upstairs. I mean that literally. Not referring to god, or anything. Robotnik is up six flights of stairs above me. Though, I guess, in a demented light, you could refer to the man as a twisted god. Creator of artificial life. Destroyer of all flesh and bone, save for himself. He feels he's earned this right.

I'm sweating. This is actually a work out for me, all this running and dodging. Not to mention the unbearable heat, caused by the machines that produce these wretched things I'm trying to kill. The machine's vents spewing hot steam all around me. I have to get out of here.

Crashing through another bucket of bolts that tried to stop me, I wonder to myself how I am able to lose myself in my thoughts at a time like this. As if this has all become second nature. As if something else is driving me through all of this. As if I am merely a vessel for some higher form of intelligence.

A buzz bomber over head, I can't even imagine reaching the fucker. Hit the deck, and roll forward as bombs shake the ground around me. Tumbling from my roll, I lay flat on my face and stomach. I've been stopped for the first time since I entered this hellhole. I can't currently remember anything before that.

Force myself onto my hands and knees, another bomb lands too close for comfort, sending scalding shards of shrapnel into the side of my face. Kick forward, and a short roll back onto my feet. I'm running again, as I pull one of the twisted pieces of metal from my face.

Blood stains my white gloves.

My face hurts. My legs are killing me. My heart is pounding its way through my ribcage, but all I can think about is the door about twenty feet ahead of me. Two buzz bombers and a crabmeat stand in my way, and I aim to move them from it, or go around them.

Tuck my legs in, and I become the hedgehog version of a buzz saw; what I do best. Besides running, that is. My quills tear through the imitation crab, leaving it a pile of scrap metal in my wake. However, the buzz bombers will prove more of a challenge.

Roll past the first one, and launch myself upward towards the second. It tries to produce a bomb to lob at me, but it isn't fast enough. Should have detected me sooner. A mechanic screech as my body tears through metal; a feat I don't quite understand. A gift I was unknowingly given. Things happen for a reason, I guess.

My legs and arms leave my body so my destination can be seen and anticipated. Almost there.

Almost home free.

As my feet hit the ground, a bed of spikes shoots up from the ground inches before me, damn near giving me a heart attack. My hands clutch my chest and my breath stops, as the spikes start slowly retracting into the ground.

I was literally less than a foot from death. Literally.

A buzzing noise from behind me reminds me where I am, and how little I need to worry about this shit before it happens for real. FOOM! A bomb is launched toward me from behind, sounding similar to one of those automatic pitching machines. I turn to meet it just in time, my hand flying up to catch the round grenade in the padding of my soft glove. My arm spins around in an exaggerated pitch, as the grenade is hurled back towards the oversized, mechanical yellow-jacket. It sees this coming, and makes an attempt to flip a bitch but it's too late. The bomb strikes the metallic surface hard enough to cause the thing to explode. You see, their bombs aren't timed, but contact sensitive.

As the bomb makes contact to the abdomen, it explodes with concentrated shrapnel, shredding and denting the metal surface. The left wing is still somewhat intact, because it flutters around in an awkward spiral before landing on the ground in a pile. Twitching and spewing sparks all over the place.

I have to get out of here.

It's too hot.

My legs are starting to burn.

I can't think straight.

I'm getting dizzy.

My stomach feels like it's eating itself.

And I am about to have to climb six flights of stairs, to what will be my most difficult challenge yet.

* * *

This is it.

I can barely believe it as the monstrous thing rises before me. Where he came from, I could never say. It's almost like this was meant to happen.

The giant, round machine approaches me, a large turret extending in my direction.

Oh fuck.

This man truly is a god amongst all things machine. I can could not even begin to comprehend how he achieved all of this. You have to hand it to him, he must be a fucking genius or something.

Something.

Stop gawking at it, and bolt towards him. It's time. Now or never. Kill or be killed.

Going as fast as my legs will carry, a giant red bomb suddenly fires from the turret. The sound is deafening.

A loud ringing noise accompanies an aching on both sides of my head.

But I have to carry on.

Clutching a power ring, my speed carries me underneath the giant egg before the bomb can even hit thie ground. Jumping into the air, curling up into a ball, I hurl my body into the giant machine.

Once

Twice

Three times, and my body aches all over.

Landing on the ground again, I roll past it just far enough to turn at a safe distance. Fingers digging into my gloved palm around the glowing ring.

Gloves completely soaked with sweat.

Panting.

I've never felt my heartbeat like this before.

The turret suddenly retracts back into the giant ball of death.

Six arms sprout from the egg in a vertical line all round the sphere. At the end of each arm is, on the left side, for whatever reason, a little platform that is slowly spinning adjacent to the death egg.

Platforms.

Hah. You fool.

Racing towards him once again, I extend my arms outward as I leap towards the lowest mechanical arm.

Clinging to the edge of it, luck is on my side.

The platform slowly makes it's way horizontal, as it takes me forward instead of back.

The arm runs on a track, and it's taking me up to him.

The platform's rotation puts me on my stomach. Lifting myself to my feet, I can see him in the cockpit at the top of the machine.

Almost there.

The arm lifts me to his level, and for the first time do I see my true enemy.

A fat man, with an exaggerated red mustache and ridiculously large goggles.

The arm lifts me high above him, as we stare into one another's face.

Now.

Before I know it my body is already curled into a ball, and it's flying towards him at breakneck speed.

I aimed for the cockpit.

My body makes contact, sending pulsing waves of shock from my quills to my fingertips.

And I fall.

And he falls.

Land on my feet, and stumble forward onto my knees. The giant egg crashes into the ground, a mixture of crumbling shrapnel and exploding gas valves.

I did it! I fucking killed him!

Stepping back from the mess before me, I can't help but feel like….

something's not right.

My answer makes itself apparent. A significantly smaller egg. A big weapon within a giant weapon

I can see him more clearly, his fat body encased in some sort of escape pod.

Spikes shoot out all sides.

I can see him laughing crazily, as he advances closer and closer.

Stop gawking and ru_

* * *

"FUCK!"

His foot connects with the plastic game machine as hard as it can. The momentum of the foot scoops the somewhat light machine into the air. It flies into the wall, little puts of plastic in all directions, and bounces back onto the white carpeted floor.

He hurls the cordless controller into the machine, the batteries ejecting from the back due to impact. The plastic cracks in two.

And there the boy stood, staring at his destroyed possession, panting as if he had literally gone through the trials of the imaginary character himself.

Only then did it dawn on him what had just happened.

What he had done.

"Oh god" he stated, approaching the machine and dropping to his knees. "Oh shit."

How many lawns had he mown? How many countless hours did he spend working and sweating over the machine that he just carelessly destroyed?

"Oh no! No, no, NO!"

The little boy's voice cracked, as he started to cry over his silly little toy. His ridiculously expensive toy. The one that had frustrated him so, by constantly freezing after so many minutes of play.

Worthless gaming companies, he thought. This is their fault.

"Fuck you, Sega!"

* * *

Inspired by the much more awesome, and much more original story by The Tears of a Madman, entitled "Click"

Go read it this instant, then shun me for ruining a perfectly good story.


End file.
